


Efflorescent flames

by galient



Series: allyship born from tragedy [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anger, Arson, Coping, Developing Friendships, Drabble, Fire, Floris | Fundy Needs A Hug, Forgiveness, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29602089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galient/pseuds/galient
Summary: Hatred is a sick, useless thing. It burns in the pit of your chest and forces a snarl to curl onto gentle features.Hatred is a sick thing, and Fundy knows it well.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & GeorgeNotFound, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, GeorgeNotFound & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: allyship born from tragedy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174820
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	Efflorescent flames

Fundy sniffs, wiping the sweat from his upper lip. 

Lean muscle is taut from exertion, his arms crossing over each other on his chest. His ears are pinned to the sides of his head, gaze faced downwards intently. His brows curve subtly, lips drawn into a slight pout. 

The fire burns wildly in front of him, scolding heat burning the surface of his skin. His breath wavers the smoke in the air, and his shoulders rise up and down in a rhythm. 

Sly footsteps sound against the grass floor, Fundy twitches his ear in response, staring into the flames that engulfed the fauna. His tail lashes angrily, worn out from the fit of anger he worked himself into. 

George joins the space beside him, not saying a word as the fire consumes more blocks outside of the tree. Fundy can see the orange flames flicker in the reflection of the brunette's goggles, his lips pulled into a thin line that betray no emotion. 

Brown arm guards travel all the way down George's arms, and the blue that hugs him washes white in the bright fire light. A scar starts near the start of his wrist to the end of his knuckle. The clumps of dirt by their feet are kicked into the growing blaze. 

"Had to take your anger out on this poor tree, did you?" George says, a hum in the bellow of his chest as he bumps his shoulder into the younger man's. Fundy breathes slowly, turning his heavy gaze to the shorter. 

"Why are you here?" Fundy asks, the flint and steel heavy in his pocket. George shrugs, a calm presence as he rests a light hand on the bough of his shoulder. "It's a big fire you started here, I could smell the smoke." 

Fundy looks at him plainly, the sheen in his eyes masked by the watering effect from said smoke. The thump of his heart racing in his chest slowed beat by beat, each breath slowing the pace of adrenaline filled veins. 

"You gonna put this out? Not that I mind, really." George brushes the fallen ash off his shoulder, indifferent to Fundy's gaze. 

Fundy glances back at the burning wood, the leaves curling into ash and the roaring crackle of fire sounds in his ears. He shrugs the hand off his shoulder, feels the searing burn that comes off the blaze against his skin. 

"If you don't mind." He bites, turns his back to the destruction. The sun lies low on the horizon, pulling whispering violets and pinks towards its light. Leaves crunch under the soles of his shoes, and he hears another set of steps following after him. 

The warmth seeps out from under his flesh as he creates more distance, and he knows in no time the small forest will be decimated completely in a couple of hours. A crooked smile cracks his lips apart, and even the quiet presence behind him won't ruin the low toned satisfaction. 

"What are you going to do now?" 

George asks, monotonous as usual. Fundy isn't quite sure. When he struck the flame it was almost on impulse, wanting to release the shaky scorching rage igniting in the pit of his stomach. The fox wasn't necessarily thinking ahead as he walked off either. 

"I don't know." 

It's growing dark, so Fundy let's George guide him to his home. The small hut made of mushroom and spruce wood has been repaired since its griefing, furnished with lanterns and flowers that sprout from the ground. The smoke in his lungs burn a little less at its sight, and George backs up over the bridge to face him. 

"Nice, right? Fixed it up a bit ago." The brunette says pridefully, running his hands up the polished wood rails. Fundy shrugs, heels clacking against the bridge underfoot. "Looks better than it did before." 

George smiles quietly, and shrugs back at him. 

George welcomes him into his home with little resistance or distance, offering to make him a cup of tea while Fundy observes the warm light encompassing the room. The house is small, wooden walls and cobblestone floors only stretch far enough for a hallway leading to two rooms on opposite sides. Carpet of dark blues and reds soften the steps he takes to the cushioned armchair. 

He takes off his shoes at George's insistence, huffing in annoyance. The fox-eared boy was struck by a wave of domesticity as George boiled water over the stove. 

It's odd, since the last time he'd seen George's house it'd been charred and devoid of items, burned mushroom stinking the air. He hadn't felt too much remorse over its demise, but in the end it had costed Tommy's citizenship to L'manburg. Maybe Fundy missed him in the time he was gone, maybe he didn't. When he appeared again in its walls, it wasn't too unexpected. 

Fundy had trouble believing Tommy lost his last life, whether he was grieving over his death, lost in denial, was unclear. He'd already been drowning in self-pity and anger over the loss of his father, spare emotion taken out in the last fight for L'manburg's freedom, he was tired. 

Mourning was an odd thing, so Fundy shoved it down to reach out for the anger. He let himself release it through flint striking again steel and sparking a blaze wild enough to consume him.

George hands him a warm mug, muted warmth waning against the skin of his hands. The brunette sinks into his own chair, tea steaming from the secured cup in his palms. 

It's silent for a bit, like how it always starts whenever Fundy somehow ends up in George's company. 

"Do you hate Tommy, George?" 

George hums, blows on the surface of the liquid. "No." 

Fundy takes the moment to look at him, the blackened edges of his cowhide coat brushes against the side of his cheek as he turns to look at him. "Why not?" 

"I was mad at first, being without a home and all. But I realized something." Fundy leans in closer, resting his elbows on the bone of his knees. George blows an amused huff out of his nostrils, and then pushes his goggles up on his forehead. 

"He was grieving. Letting it out in the only way he knew, violence." George's eyes dart to the younger's, dark and shining. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" 

Fundy leans back, mind settling as he does. 

George takes another loud sip. 

"You do have a history of people burning things around you, don't you?" Fundy mumbles, looking away as the brunette laughs sharply. "I have a history of _ignoring_ the people around me, and that's why I'm changing that." 

It fades to night quickly, the minimal light coming through the window panes disappear, leaving only the warm-lit lanterns to cast light in the room. Their conversations veer from projects, to bugs, and then to family. 

The hot tea relieves the ash in his throat, and his chest feels less heavy as the bitter liquid warms his cheeks. 

Then somehow words spoken began to turn to Wilbur. 

"I hate him. I know he was shitty, and I hate him for that." Fundy's fingers tighten around the mug, and he stares into its waters. 

"But I miss him." The ginger admits solemnly, cold clenching the inside of his chest. "Doesn't that make me a bad person?" 

George is quiet for several beats. He lifts the ceramic to his lips, drinks minutely as silence washes over them. 

"I dont think so." George responds finally, thoughtful. "It's like what you told me, isn't it?" The house whirrs with gentle power, burning light into the room and flowing water to the flower field. "Just because I miss Dream doesn't make me a bad person, does it? Even though I know the terrible things he did." 

Fundy dips his eyes back up to the other, pursing his lips. "That's different-" "It's not." George cuts him off, insistent. Fundy clicks his mouth shut, waits for him to speak again. 

"I don't know much about you and Wilbur, and being angry doesn't solve anything. You know that." 

Fundy tips his head down, ears lowering to the sides of his head. Somehow he feels like he's being scolded. 

"Being mad is okay, being upset is something we all go through, but burning down a forest isn't the best way to deal with it, is it?" George says, sighing out slightly. Fundy traces the rim of his empty mug, shrugging. "Suppose not." 

George seems to observe him for a moment, eyes chatoyant as he grins uncharacteristically. "Anger is a power, use it, if people aren't listening to your voice that's their fault." Fundy raises an eyebrow at him, smiling silently. 

Fundy tilts his head back, a bit grateful for the advice. His anger was misplaced, misused, and in the end its power undetermined by anyone who failed to hear him. George was a good friend, if he was one. He was born in the nation destroyed by its creator, hell to anyone who underestimated its son. 

Fundy's mouth tugs upwards, and he raises his empty cup into the air. 

"Cheers to that, man." 

**Author's Note:**

> I originally had a bit more planned, but it felt like I was dragging it out, and I just wanted to post it so I have time to work on other things. Otherwise, I really enjoyed writing this, and in the end if I want I could always use the scraps planned originally for this for other ones! 
> 
> Really hope you enjoyed! Consider staying to read their friendship develop and lift eachother up.


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